


Like Nails in My Feet

by thecarlysutra



Category: Thunderheart (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: “I feel like I’m floating,” Ray said. “Like I’ve got no tether.”<br/>AUTHOR’S NOTES: Title from <a href="http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=196">a softer world</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Nails in My Feet

  
Walter found him in the guest bedroom. They had thrown everyone’s coats on the bed, and Ray was sitting beside the pile of winter-warm jackets and parkas, his arms rested on his knees, his head bent.

“Don’t,” Ray said softly, not looking up.

Walter sat down beside him. “Don’t what?”

“Say anything,” Ray said, and sniffed. It was then Walter noticed the shine on Ray’s cheeks, the red of his eyes.

Walter sighed, and rested his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Oh, honey. Come on, now. I wouldn’t ride you about this.”

Ray didn’t say anything. He sniffed again, and then winced; the heavy stink of lilies permeated every room of the house.

Funeral flowers.

“Your ma’s still laying down,” Walter said.

“Good.”

Walter rubbed his thumb over the knot of Ray’s spine, where the starched white linen gave way to Ray’s skin. “I been keeping an eye out for her.”

“Thanks.” Ray studied the shine of his shoes. He had polished them this morning, with military precision. The Colonel had taught him. “Are people asking for me? Should I go out there?”

“Fuck ’em,” Walter said. “It’s your kin’s died; shouldn’t be your job to entertain them.”

“That isn’t . . . they’ve come to pay their respects.”

“Fuck ’em.”

Ray didn’t say anything. He relaxed into Walter’s palm, let Walter take some of his weight.

“There’s my boy,” Walter said softly. He slid his hands around Ray’s ribs, drew Ray’s body against him; Ray fell willingly, letting Walter take all of his weight.

“I feel like I’m floating,” Ray mumbled against the knot of Walter’s tie. “Like I’ve got no tether.”

Walter’s arms closed around him, tight.

“I’ll let this one slide on account of what today is,” he said, “but it’s clear you ain’t thought it through.”

Ray nuzzled closer, folding himself into the cocoon of Walter’s embrace. It was odd, the mute of the stiff wool and linens of their funeral garb, so different from the wear-soft denim and cotton they were used to. Ray thought of armor.

“My mom’s still in bed?” he asked.

“Ayeh. Probably she’ll be awhile.”

“Did you lock the door?”

Walter frowned. “When I came in just now looking for you? No.”

“Do it.”

Walter didn’t move. Ray unburrowed himself enough to shoot him a glare; Walter sighed, got up, and locked the door.

“They ain’t comin’ after you,” Walter said, his weight bending the bed.

Ray unbuttoned the first button of his starched, linen shirt, pulled at the collar, the noose of his tie. He made a small frustration noise; there was no soundness in his flesh, not enough in his hands for this.

“Walter,” he said. “Walter, please, I can’t—”

Walter crawled toward him. He put his hands on him, slipped the heavy wool jacket from Ray’s shoulders. He loosened Ray’s tie, pulled it from around his neck. Walter unbuttoned Ray’s shirt, his knuckles parting the fabric and trailing over Ray’s exposed skin.

Ray let Walter move him, let Walter strip the fabric from his body. No more armor. Walter undressed Ray, and laid him back into the pile of coats.

Leather and tweed, wool and poplin cradled him, the assorted textures tickling and scratching at his exposed skin. Ray closed his eyes, and breathed deep. He remembered occasions to enter stepfather’s closet, the lingering smell of him, the feel of the fabrics beneath his fingertips.

“I just have to get through today,” he said.

The pile of coats shifted beneath him, and Ray could feel the warmth of Walter and the stiff material of his mourning clothes brush over him. A soft touch on Ray’s forehead, his closed eyelids—kisses like benedictions. A small, rent noise tore from Ray’s throat, but Walter just patted Ray’s arm and made a soft, horse calming noise.

“Easy,” he said. “You’re gonna get through today—and the next day, and the next. And I’m gonna be there to help you.”

Ray opened his eyes to Walter’s calm face hovering over him. Ray raised his face to be kissed; Walter pressed his closed lips against Ray’s, gently.

“You’re good to me,” Ray said.

Walter chuckled. “It’s just in my nature. I’m your tether, smartie.”

Ray closed his eyes, and held on.  



End file.
